


Never Say Never

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Clint and Phil FTC (Fuck the Canon, I Do What I Want) [5]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Bestiality, Childbirth, Everyone else knows, Forced Pregnancy, Fuck Or Die, Human Experimentation, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Mom and Dad Coulson, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Newborn Children, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pregnancy, Pregnant kick ass Hawkeye, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Experimentation, Torture, Unethical Experimentation, Werewolves, What the fuck is this?, a cameo by Deadpool?, but it's also not in others, look - Freeform, okay?, the Avengers are really smart and figure shit out, this is really dark in places
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-24 02:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18160271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: Captured, experimented on, forced to fuck or die, Clint finds himself pregnant and has to deal with the repercussions.  Strangely enough, that's the beginning of a long road that just might lead to happiness for himself and one Phil Coulson, the man he's been pining over for a long time.  And, if he learns a few facts that he never knew along the way, well, who is he to turn down an opportunity to have what he wants?





	Never Say Never

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I was asked what fanfic tropes I'd never write. 
> 
> Alpha/Beta/Omega was one. 
> 
> Mpreg was another. 
> 
> And yet, here I am, posting a fic with not only both of those but a dose of bestiality thrown in. 
> 
> Oh, well, never say never again, right?
> 
> I started writing this in a very dark mood. Be warned there are two sections that deserve the archived warnings. The first section involves non-consensual, drugged, fuck-or-die sex, bestiality, and violence. Later, Epilogue #2 is extra violent. 
> 
> Then, somehow, what had been part of my own depressive episode, morphed into a light, fluffy, the family is a team and everyone loves everyone curtain fic. 
> 
> I have no excuses or explanation. I'm just posting this as is because my muse demands I give birth to it and let it go.

_His skin prickled, hot and itchy, burning along his spine and pooling in his gut; his fingers were freezing, shaking on the cold tile floor, his knees aching from balancing his weight, hurting with each rocking thrust. Warm breath on his neck, sharp nails raking along his forearm, whine in his ear.  Out-of-focus shapes and blurs, beige and brown and grey, all too indistinct to register in his fevered brain. Sounds condensed and compressed, pants and growls and slap of skin mixed with voices that faded in and out. Need, frantic scrabbling, empty, being filled … his heartbeat was the only fixed point, the accelerated thump, thump, thump, sometimes joined with an echo, not his, pressed along his back._

 

Clint woke slowly, senses spinning behind his closed eyelids, body shivering so hard his teeth were chattering.  An icy breeze blew across his skin; he curled in tighter as he coughed, mouth too dry to make any saliva. Forcing his eyes open, he blinked in the harsh light, far too bright in the unrelentingly white room;  the manacles on his wrists rattled, chain shifting in the metal hook on the floor. He could barely focus, the ache in his skull an overlay of pain that colored every movement.

 

A sharp pinch in the fold of his arm; he jerked as the needle sank into a vein.

 

“He needs water,” a voice said. “Dehydration is a side-effect of the pitocin at this dosage.”

 

Squinting, Clint saw only a shadowy figure.

 

“What the …”  Words wouldn’t form, pushed aside by a wave of cramps that rolled up from his gut and into his throat. He vomited bile, body rebelling; something warm wiped his face and he whimpered, a stab of need so sharp he groaned out loud.

 

“Jesus, it’s coming fast; someone get …”

 

_More, more, faster, faster, harder, harder … biting the inside of his cheek, bright drops on the floor … aching, wanting, panting, pushing, pulling … teeth breaking his skin, scraping across his shoulder … full, so full, even wider, even tighter, there, there, that’s it … coming with a shout, body seizing tight around the knot inside him … shaking, shivering, gasping, moaning … fur against his back, draping over his body, keeping him warm._

 

A whine followed by scrabbling claws on tile; his fingers touched plastic, and he gripped the bottle before he’d completely opened his eyes. Black nose pushed the water closer then touched Clint’s forehead, cool and comforting.  The top was off, and he managed to tip the opening and drink a long swallow; only after he’d drained half of it did the wolf knock over another one and lap up the spilled liquid. Grey fur was matted with sweat, blue eyes dull, movements sluggish; as soon as it finished drinking, it circled around and dropped to the floor behind Clint, curling up against him and laying its muzzle over his shoulder.

 

Memories danced just beyond Clint’s consciousness.  

 

_Desert heat. Nat’s voice. A searing pain. Bowstring between his fingers. Something … he’d been looking for someone or somewhere … A table, people around it … Coulson talking … test, testing. H.Y.D.R.A. experiments ..._

 

The door opened, two men entered.  The wolf raised its head and growled.

 

“Fucking animal,” one of them muttered.

 

Teeth snapped as it swiped at the orderlies with its claws.

 

A long silver rod waved with a dance of sparks at the end; the wolf bunched his muscles to lunge. Clint was closer, pushing towards the attack; the prongs connected to his flank, and he seized, electricity jolting through his body.

 

A loud echo of a gunshot; the man fell, bullet hole in his chest, blood spreading over his white scrubs.

 

“Idiot,” a voice … the same voice … “Get me 12 ccs of etorphine and the next synthroid mixture stat before he …”

 

_Breathe.  In and out, in and out. Soft swipes of tongue on swollen skin.  Easy rocking, satisfying the urgent demand, soft little thrusts, held tight. Again and again and nothing but this, joining and being and spilling and filling and needing and sighing. Two, one, two, one, two, one …._

 

His stomach rumbled, his throat was dry, his muscles clenching and unclenching; heat headache compressed his brain into sharp pinpoints at the base of his skull and behind his eyes.  Too tired to move out of the sticky slick on the floor, he swiped a hand across his eyes and used a nail to dig some crusty crud out of the corner.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I agree,” he answered the whine of concern from the animal draped over his body. “Fuck ‘em all.”

 

Tenuous at best, his grasp on reality was fading in and out like his consciousness. He knew the wolf couldn’t understand him, but damn if it didn’t nudge his chin and lick the teeth marks on his shoulder. LIttle jolts of lust spiraled out of the spot; whatever they were giving him, his heat never seemed to end, just momentary lulls between mindless knotting.  

 

A soft woof and the warmth left, the wolf rising on wobbly legs as rations appeared. Water had changed to Gatorade; Clint was sure they were feeding him through an I.V. while he was unconscious, drugging him and keeping his body going.  The rest, well, he didn’t think too much about it; if he did, he’d freak out and that wouldn’t help anything. What he needed was a plan, to get his head together enough to get the hell out of here, but he could barely think coherently much less make his muscles work enough to sit up.

 

“I’m losing it,” Clint said to no one in particular.  “If you start talking, then I’ll know I’ve gone off the deep end.”

 

The wolf settled down beside him, blue eyes filled with worry; it gave a little huff and rested its head on Clint’s chest. Whatever they were doing to Clint, the animal was getting the same treatment; they’d shaved a patch of fur for needles and it was covered with white gauze. They were both being used.

 

“First thing, when we get out of here, I’m going to …”  Clint yawned, jaw popping; exhaustion rolled through him. “Damn it, I can’t have five fucking minutes?”  His cock stirred, the first signs of the next wave prickling under his skin. “Fucking hell …”

 

_Tight, so tight, big, so big … “Omega slut, that’s what you are” … good, so good, deep, so deep … “Do what you’re told, bitch” … higher, so much higher, further, so much further … “Taking it like an Omega whore” … hard, so hard, coming, coming, coming …_

 

Clint slowly came to, flat on his back and staring at the ceiling.  A mattress was beneath him, a blanket covering his body, a pillow under his head, and an I.V. bag dripped liquids through the inserted needle. He was alone in the room, but a couple of bottles were lined beside the mattress along with protein bars, boxes of raisins, and some apples.

 

First, he checked his body, flexing and stretching, cataloging the damage; his ass was sore, his muscles weak and shaky, layers of scratches on his arms and legs, some older, almost gone, some fresh enough to still be red around the edges. A nasty set of bruising on his side already half-faded, the after-effects of the cattle prod.  For it to be healed that much meant … yeah, he had no clue how much time had passed. Whatever the hell they’d been giving him played havoc with his internal clock.

 

Easing up on his elbows, he downed a whole bottle in one long swallow then ate one of the bars.  Didn’t matter if they’d been doctored; he needed the nutrients to get his strength back so he could get the hell out of here, wherever here was.  After some raisins and half of another bottle, he reached for the needle to pull it out.

 

“Don’t do that, please.”  The voice belonged to a woman in a lab coat, short and plump, round wire-framed glasses perched on her nose.  “You need the antibiotics and anti-rejection drugs to speed your recovery. The treatment is efficient but quite brutal on the endocrine system.  Leave that in and you’ll get better faster.”

 

“And I should believe you because …”  Clint yanked it out anyway because fuck her and the horse she rode in on. “Yeah, no thanks.”  

 

He tried to tense his muscles, thinking he could make it to the door.

 

“Oh, you’re far too compromised to make a break for it.”  She took the cap off a syringe and pressed the plunger until liquid squirted. “All you’ve earned yourself is another insertion needle and a nice long nap while your body does what it's supposed to.”

 

“And what’s that?”  He could barely raise a hand to the two guys who came around the doctor and held him down. “What the fuck is all this about?”

 

“Making history, Agent Barton.  You’ve been blessed; everyone will know your name soon.”  

 

He slept then woke, ate, drank, took a piss, slept, woke and did it all again.  His body refused to cooperate; lethargic, exhausted, he marked time by the change in his food, full meals appearing as soon as he opened his eyes.  His appetite increased along with the portions, but he ached like his bones were too big for his body, pushing at the seams of his skin.

 

“I couldn’t care less who you are,” the guy said the next time … the fourth time … maybe the tenth time he came in.  “You got my brother killed, you fucking omega.”

 

“The idiot with the cattle prod?” Clint asked; he definitely remembered the pain. “Shouldn’t have gone after my wolf.”

 

“God, you bonded with it?”  The guy laughed. “That’s fucked up, man; I mean, you let it mount you and then …”

 

He lunged and got a hand on the guy’s arm, wrenched it back and took him down, throwing a punch that landed on his nose with a satisfying crunch. Anger welled up, a curtain of red, and he went for the jaw, aiming to break as many bones as possible.  Three solid hits then others were dragging him off, locking the manacles around his wrists and holding him down as the needle sank in.

 

“Get that idiot out of here.” The doctor hovered over Clint. “Prep the ultrasound and get a dose of ….”

 

“The wolf. Where is he?”  Clint shook his head and tried to focus.

 

“He served his purpose,” she said. “You, however, need to …”

 

_He was dreaming, he knew. Sweat trickling down his neck, hot sun beating down, sand shifting in his shoe.  Sighting down the arrow shaft, firing one after another, running and shooting, dodging the bullets flying around him.  H.Y.D.R.A. swarming his position, passing out beneath a hail of fists. Needles and fog and cramps and going into heat. Blue eyes, warm fur, possessive growls, teeth nipping at his skin._

 

Lights dimmed for simulated night, the click of the lock echoed in the quiet room.

 

He’d seen little of his captors since the incident with the orderly. Food slid through a small opening, paper plates filled to overflowing with healthy eats like grilled chicken and steamed veggies along with an occasional piece of cake or pie.  He’d tried not eating only to wake groggy with a sore throat from being intubated and fed through a tube, so now he took what was offered. They kept drugging him to keep him docile for the times the doctor would come in and take his vitals, but he managed to start exercising, simple push-ups and sit-ups, squats and stretches.  Being naked didn’t bother him and moving helped burn off the medication faster. In between, he meditated, dredged up tai chi and some simple katas that weren’t too strenuous. From what he could tell, it had been at least two months since he’d beaten the hell out of that asshole.

 

His eyes flicked open at the sound, and he tensed. The usual fog obscured his thoughts, but they hadn’t given him anything extra, nothing to knock him out. He might be able to … The wolf slipped through the open door, quiet as a shadow, ghosting across the room to where he lay; in its mouth, it held a magnetic key that, once near Clint’s cuffs, popped them open. Dropping it, the wolf whined then headed for the door; it stopped, looked back, and huffed.

 

“Give me a second,” Clint muttered, climbing to his feet. “Jesus, what are you, Lassie or something?”

 

One side of its lips curled up at the name.

 

“Right. Ixnay on the Assielay. Got it.” This had to be the strangest rescue Clint had ever been part of, but if it got him out of here, he didn’t care if Santa’s sleigh was their getaway vehicle. “Lead on, Macduff.”

 

The hallway was the same boring industrial grade concrete block of so many buildings.  Beige paint, white doors .. nothing down the corridor they passed nor sounds of anyone else nearby.  The Wolf seemed to know where it was going, so Clint let it take the lead, nosing into a stairway and heading up two flights. It was there that they ran into their first denizens, two orderlies in green scrubs who rounded the corner at just the wrong moment, wearing combat boots and armed.  

 

Despite his spinning head, Clint’s blow landed with enough force to knock one of them on his ass before he could draw his weapon; Clint relieved him of it then slammed the butt into the man’s head, taking him out.  The other guard got off an aborted shout before the wolf’s jaws closed around his throat; ignoring the gurgles from the dying man, Clint paused long enough to strip the scrubs from his guy and slip them on. The weight of the guns in his palms centered him, help him focus as he heard footsteps coming their way.

 

“We gotta go.”  He started one direction; the wolf caught him by the hem and turned him around just as a bullet ricocheted off the wall by his head.  

 

“Subject is out of his room!”  

 

Clint ran, skidding around a corner and banging against the wall, equilibrium shot to hell, but he kept going, clattering along seemingly endless beige hallways.  He fired off as few shots as possible, zig-zagging, sliding under the range and, once, rolling across a desk in an office they cut through. An alarm began to blare, bright lights flickered on, and more guards joined the chase. Finally, he emerged into a loading area to find an old jeep backed up to the dock.

 

“Hot damn.” He jumped the few feet down, lost his balance, stumbled, but managed to get to the driver’s door. “Please let the keys be in  …”

 

Bullets strafed the metal side; one slammed into Clint’s leg and another into his shoulder, pushing him forward into the cab.  He fired three shots with his good hand and hit all three men.

 

“Fucking …” He crawled in the seat and felt the dangle of a metal chain with keys. “Yes! Marines, we are leaving!”  

 

He whistled and turned the engine over; it roared to life as the wolf jumped in through the passenger window.  Had to use his other foot to push the clutch, but he got it into gear and they jerked forward, driving outside and heading for the gate. At the last second, he veered off the packed dirt road, ramming the chain link fence in the middle rather than where the poles were joined, knocking down a whole section before giving it gas and taking the first turn way too fast.  

 

Headlights flared in the rearview mirror; Clint cursed, shifted into a higher gear, felt something tear in his shoulder, but never let off the pedal.  Numb arm or not, Clint was damn well not going to get caught. Biting his lip to keep from groaning with each bump and jolt, he barrelled down the curved road, desert air whipping through his hair. At some point, he started to fade, all his energy on turning the wheel and gaining ground on their pursuers.

 

“Clint. Give me the wheel before you pass out.”  

 

The face was blurry, but he knew that voice.  He must be going crazy because there was no way …

 

“Clint!”  Hands pushed him aside; the jeep swerved the righted itself. “Stay with me …”

 

_Gunfire … a halo around red hair … Hulk roaring … flames and ash floating through the air … cold flat surface … fingers covered in blood … “stop the bleeding first” … stomach swoop that went with lift-off … “tell Helen to be ready” … pain with every jostle … “Clint, it’s us, you’re fine, don’t fight” … ceiling lights rolling by overhead … “can’t give him any” …_

 

The mattress was soft, sheets cotton, soft rays filtering in through the windows.  He surfaced easily, awareness seeping in slowly but completely. Tree branches cast shadows on the far wall and over the equipment he was hooked up to. His left shoulder was immobilized, arm strapped across his chest; elevated in a sling, his left leg was in a heavy purple cast … and the color was the thing that made him believe he wasn’t dreaming.  

 

“Hey,” Bruce called from the doorway, Natasha behind him.  He looked tired like he always did after he changed. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Like someone pumped me full of shitty drugs and shot at me,” he answered. “How bad is it?”

 

Natasha perched on the edge of the bed; she took his right hand and squeezed as she explained. “Bullet shattered your fibula; Cho used a new technique of regrowing bones so you should be able to put weight on it in a week or so.  The shoulder, well, that’s another situation. The bullet cut through the muscle then it tore when you were escaping. Just going to have to let it heal naturally then rehab it, but you should regain your mobility in time.”

 

Clint wiggled his fingers; tendrils of pain shot up his arm and into his shoulder, “Okay, could be worse.”

 

He saw the flinch; Bruce was a terrible poker player.

 

“And the rest of it?  What did they do to me?” he asked.

 

“We’re still sifting through the data, but it’s not good,” Bruce said.  “We think they were experimenting on omegas and alphas, accelerating the heat and rut cycle. Carol’s pulling apart the drug mixtures they were using …”

 

“Pitocin,etrophine, and synthroid.  She mentioned those.” Clint’s anger surged even thinking about her. “Bitch was a true believer; said I was blessed, that people would know my name.”

 

“What they were doing ... “ Green flashed behind Bruce’s eyes. “H.Y.D.R.A. still has the Nazi obsession with myths and legends, creating a perfect race. Manipulating genetics that way is beyond the pale.”

 

“Myths? Like the holy grail and that shit?  What the hell does that mean?”

 

“You ever heard of the Alpha Prime theory?” Bruce asked.

 

“The idea that we’re descended from wolves, the whole werewolf thing?” Clint scoffed. “That’s just an old wives tale told to scare kids and let bastards get away with violent behavior.”

 

“Yeah, well, Doctor Shandler thought she could activate latent genes and create a cross-hybrid,” Bruce said. “She was building on work done by Josef Mengele back in the 60s and 70s, trying to prove the hypothesis.”

 

“Fucking hell.” Clint squeezed his eyes shut as the memory of fur and teeth flashed in his mind.  “Tell me she died bad, Nat. I need to know.”

 

Natasha rubbed his hand, and he looked up at her. “The Big Guy kinda took it personally; there’s nothing left of her or the lab.”

 

“Good.”  He took a deep breath.  “Yeah, that’s good.”

 

“Look, we don’t know what the long term effects are going to be; hell, half of what they were giving you were so far beyond experimental that I’ve never heard of them.”  Bruce sighed and rubbed face. “We can’t risk giving you anything more than across-the-counter pain meds much something to help with your out-of-control hormones and body chemistry, not with the ... the extenuating circumstances.  Even then, I don’t know what time frame we’re looking at …”

 

His stomach fluttered, a cold knot forming.  “Extenuating circumstances? What …”

 

“Clint.”  Natasha had that voice, the one she only used when she had something bad to say.  “You’re pregnant.”

 

Pregnant. The word dropped through him, a pit opening that sucked him right back into those hazy days in the cell.  A wave of heat crawled up his chest and clawed at his throat; the teeth shaped scar on his shoulder flared to life. He couldn’t breath, couldn’t think, couldn’t help but fall.

 

“Clint.”  Sharper, Nat’s tone cut through the panic. “Listen to me, everything’s going to be okay.”

 

“No, no, no.”  Clint shook his head or was his whole body shaking?  “I’m not … I can’t be …” He laughed, the very thought crazy. “It’s not possible …”

 

“They accounted for your body’s natural resistance, used illegal fertility drugs …” Bruce was saying.

 

“No. It can’t be true.”   _Blue eyes, grey fur, warm body against his._ “I can’t be pregnant.”

 

“Most male omegas don’t produce enough progesterone for the ova to implant or estrogen for it to grow, but those can be boosted by synthetic versions,” Bruce insisted. “They supplemented with a third generation manufactured HCG …”

 

“No.” It was all a mistake.  Had to be. There was no way. “You don’t understand; it’s not humanly possible.”

 

“We know.”  Natasha’s words cut through the chaos in Clint’s head. “They had everything on tape, kept detailed records.”

 

It came crashing in on him, the full weight of what had happened, what he’d done, what it all meant.

 

“We destroyed everything,” she said.  “No one saw but Bruce and me. The only thing we kept was the medicines themselves and some of the documents about how they made them.  No one knows but us.”

 

He wanted to roll on his side, curl up in a ball, but he couldn’t.  Nor could he stop the tears that welled up in the corner of his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.  

 

“Jesus.”  His panic turned on a dime to frustration then to anger. “Fucking bastards.”

 

“On that, we agree.”  Natasha stroked his forehead.  “They’re not going to hurt you, Phil, or anyone ever again.”  

 

The name penetrated the vortex of emotions that battered him.  “Phil? What has he …. Wait. I remember. He was there, in the car; he took the wheel when I passed out.  How?”

 

“He went looking for you when you didn’t check in,” Natasha explained.  “They captured him a month later. He managed to get free and called us with a location.”  

 

“A month?”  Clint blinked. “How long …”

 

“Twenty weeks and four days,” Bruce answered.  “Almost five months.”

 

“And the … how many weeks am I?”  

 

“Fourteen. You’re in the second trimester.”

 

“In the …”  His head was spinning and, suddenly, he was going to throw up; Bruce held a plastic tub in place as he vomited nothing but liquid. Exhaustion rippled through him, the emotional rollercoaster too much.

 

“Here, sip this.”  Natasha put a straw to his lips.  “It’ll help.”

 

The water was cool and helped rinse away the taste. “Is the … it … even viable?  I mean, what are we talking about here? Some mutation or …”

 

“We’ll do an amniocentesis; you’re close enough to the window to check for genetic abnormalities,” Bruce said.  “Ultrasound at this phase won’t do much beyond confirming the pregnancy. Honestly, I’m surprised the fetus even attached; to make it this long makes me wonder if they modified the ovum to be more receptive.”  

 

“It doesn’t matter.”  Clint yawned and held on tight to Natasha’s hand.  “I mean, It’s not going to make it to term, and even then, there’s the damage from before … yeah, no.  Best to …”

 

“That’s for you to decide,” Natasha said. “Whatever you do, I’ll be here. You know that.”

 

“It’s your choice, Clint, but you don’t have to make it right now; give yourself time to get some of the medication out of your system.  You’re still feeling the effects of the inducers and your emotions are compromised,” Bruce added. “Best thing you can do is get some rest.  I can give you a dose of acetaminophen to help you sleep and take the edge off the pain.”

 

“Tylenol seems pretty inadequate,” Clint groused, but he didn’t turn down the offer. Bruce injected the reliever into the I.V.

 

“Close your eyes and stop worrying,”  Natasha told him.

 

“Hey, Nat?” His eyes were already sliding closed. “Stay?”

 

“We’re not leaving you,” she promised.

 

He dozed, or at least he thought he did, but the room got dark then light then dark again as he dropped in and out of a deeper sleep.  Bruce had been right; his body was working overtime to heal itself. Twice he woke up long enough to throw up; Natasha wiped his face with a cold rag and sang him back to sleep.  Three times, he dreamed he was still in the cell and even knocked his leg loose with his thrashing about. Then he grew sweaty and hot, remnants of his unnatural heats, kicking off the blanket, nearly out of his mind with need and a headache that blinded him.  He tried to pull away from any touch and lashed out at the lingering scent of beta.

 

“Shhh,” a voice murmured. A soft graze of fingers along his arm. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

 

He calmed, blinked away the sweat, and opened his eyes.  Leaning over him in the darkened room, Phil’s alpha scent surrounded Clint and his emotions settled.

 

“Hey.”  His voice cracked; he coughed and tried again. “Phil.”

 

“I”m here,” he assured him. “Bruce says these are like ripples; each one gets easier and there’s more time between.”

 

“You were there,” Clint said. “They did the same thing to you.”

 

“Yes.”  Phil took a step back and Clint felt the drop in temperature. “I … I’m sorry, Clint. About what happened. I should have …”

 

“Nah, man, it’s not your fault.”  Clint brushed away the apology. “If anything, you were looking for me; that’s how they caught you. Those motherfuckers are the ones to blame, the bastards.”  

 

“You don’t understand, I …”  Phil seemed at a loss for words.

 

“I’m probably the only one who does understand,” he contradicted. “We’re out, that’s all that matters. And now that we know, we can make sure they never do it to anyone else.”

 

“Technically, I’m still on bed rest and not supposed to leave my room,” Phil admitted.  “They’re worried I’ll broadcast Alpha hormones and stir up the base.”

 

“Awww, you broke curfew for me.”  Clint had to grin; he loved it when Phil broke the rules.  Everyone thought Phil was so damn lawful, but he was more than willing to skirt the line and sometimes barrel right over it if need be.

 

Phil flushed and his scent grew stronger, blanketing Clint and driving away the last vestiges of the phantom heat.  “I dreamed we were still there and I had to come see if you were okay. I mean, I hadn’t seen you since we got back and maybe this was just a drugged hallucination …”

 

“Oh, God, yes, I get that. Damn casts feel like I’m still strapped down sometimes.”  He waved his hand. “Gonna be awhile before I can get out of here; I’ve forgotten what the outside feels like.”

 

“I”ll see what I can do about that,” Phil said and Clint’s spirits lifted.

 

Time passed; Clint stayed awake longer and his appetite came back in spades.  He begged Natasha to order a Hawaiian pizza; she refused, anti-pineapple as always, but she did bring him a slice of pepperoni from the cafeteria.  Carol visited, talked about human hormones and DNA sequencing; she brought him his first cup of coffee. He was so happy when the taste hit his tongue, he forgave her for it being decaf.

 

Just when he began to wonder where the others were, Steve dropped by to talk about the Patriots’ Super Bowl repeat chances; Bruce, it turned out, had kept all the team’s alphas away, worried they might send Clint into a relapse.  Steve did stir up a longing, but not for him; later, Clint dreamed of the wolf running beside him through the woods and woke with tears on his cheeks. Tony wandered in next, sat on the end of the bed, and made Clint laugh so hard he snorted water out of his nose. Pepper came by then Wanda and Pietro, Sam stopped in as soon as he came back from wherever he and Bucky had been on some super secret job, Bucky wasn’t long after, and, pretty soon, Clint had a constant rotation of visitors, all who thought he’d been held captive, pumped full of drugs, then shot while trying to escape.  The rest he kept to himself for the time being.

 

There were tests and more tests; the amniocentesis needle was huge, and he wasn’t embarrassed to close his eyes and hold Natasha’s hand while they drew fluid.  The heavy cast came off his leg and a lighter one went on -- still purple -- but his arm stayed strapped tight, his shoulder immobile. He could sit up and hop to the bathroom using the guide rails on the bed and the bars on the wall, so he counted that a win.  

 

The one person he didn’t see was Phil; after that first night visit, Phil didn’t come by until almost five days later, and then he brought Natasha who was pushing a wheelchair.  

 

“It’s a nice sunny day,” Phil said. “Feel up to a picnic?”

 

“Hell, yes.” He tossed off the blanket. “Let’s go. I’ll even ride in that thing if it means I can feel the sun.”

 

They put a blanket over the chair before he sat down, then wrapped his legs in another one.  A third went around his shoulders; he felt ridiculous and, of course, Tony saw them on the way out, but none of it mattered when Nat rolled him out the back door and down the sidewalk.  The scent of pine hit him first, and he breathed deep in the crisp autumn air. The leaves were just about to turn, some already yellowing and sprouting red in their veins. Above, a flock of birds flew south, calling to each other as they swooped past.

 

“Lunch is here.”  Phil glanced down at his phone. “Be right back.”  

 

Natasha parked him at the picnic tables tucked into the tree line; most people used the back deck with its view of the mountains, but Clint had always liked this little area, set off by itself.  

 

“Do me a favor,” Natasha asked after she set the brake on the chair. “See if he’ll talk about what’s bothering him; he’s been keeping to himself too much and he’s got that little pinch between his eyes.”

 

“I thought they told him to stay away from others, the whole Alpha hormone thing?” Clint said.  “He mentioned it when he visited me the other night.”

 

“See? That’s what I'm talking about.  I asked him days ago if he wanted to see you; he made excuses then did it all alone. It’s not like him.”

 

“You know how he is about being in control,  how he plans every detail of an op and prides himself on running a tight ship?”  Clint had thought about it, lying awake and counting ceiling tiles last night. “They turned us into animal versions of ourselves, the basest of instincts in charge; that’s got to weigh on him, Nat.  Me, yeah, I’ve been there, hungry and desperate and willing to do anything to survive; I can’t imagine how I’d be dealing if I hadn’t.”

 

“I’m worried about you too,” she told him.  “This isn’t something we ever prepared for.”

 

He knew what she wasn’t saying, knew what the Red Room had done to her; he reached over and took her hand in his, brought it to his lips and kissed her palm.

 

“We, eh?  I’m the one who’s knocked up.” He went for levity, but the words were more confused and lost. “But, yeah, never thought I’d be making this decision.”

 

“Whatever …” she huffed. “If you keep it, I’ll be fine.  If you don’t, I’ll be here too.”

 

“Auntie Nat has a nice ring to it.” He laughed when she swatted his head. “Hey, invalid here. Be nice.”

 

“Invalid, my ass. Eat your damn pineapple, Philistine.” She hopped off the table where she’d been sitting. Phil had two boxes; she opened the top one and grabbed a slice. “Don’t make me regret letting you skip school, Barton.”

 

“Is one of those for me?” Clint leaned towards the pizza. “Tell me you got a Hawaiian BBQ …”

 

Phil slid the second box out from under the first and Clint made grabby hands, taking the first slice and practically inhaling it in three bites.  

 

“Oh, God, yes, that’s so good.”  The cheese was stringy and gooey and Clint was in heaven; he started on the second one. “If you want some, better grab it now before I eat it all.”

 

“Go ahead; I ordered that one just for you.”  

 

They ate in silence for a bit, Phil opening a bottle of water and putting it within Clint’s reach.  He made it through three slices and half-way through the fourth before he had to ask.

 

“So, what’s up? Much as I know you like me, you didn’t bring me out here to just eat pizza.”

 

Putting down his barely touched first slice, Phil wiped his hands on a napkin and took a long drink before he answered.  

 

“There’s something I need to tell you. It’s difficult because I’ve been trained to never talk about it; I’m not even sure how to start except to say that what I’m about to tell you can never go any further.”  He pulled a jammer from his pocket, made sure Clint saw it was active, then dropped it back in. “It’s just … you need to know all your options before you make up your mind. About the … pregnancy.”

 

That got Clint’s attention; he put the crust of the fourth slice in the side of the box and waited for Phil to continue.

 

“I played this in my head for days, and there’s no way to say this that doesn’t sound crazy,” he said.

 

“I usually go for word vomit myself,” Clint offered.  “Rip off the bandaid. Say it.”

 

“It was me.”  Phil closed his eyes. “The father. It’s me.”

 

“What?”  Clint asked.

 

“I’m the father of the baby.”

 

Shaking his head, Clint wound around the statement, wondering what Phil was talking about. “Uh, no, you’re not.  It wasn’t you in that room with me; I’d have remembered that. If you’re trying to help by saying …”

 

“Clint,” Phil objected.

 

“...  your the father so everyone believes it …”

 

“It was me.”  

 

“... I mean, I get the idea; I’ll have to tell people something, assuming I keep it, but you and I both know …”

 

“I’m the wolf.”

 

“...what really happened …” Clint froze as the statement sunk in. “What?”

 

“The wolf. Was me. I’m the wolf.”  

 

Clint’s mouth opened but no sound came out.

 

“I know it’s hard to believe …”

 

“Not possible.” Clint shook his head. “I don’t know what this is …”

 

Phil touched the scar on his shoulder, fingertips grazing teeth marks, and Clint’s growing agitation calmed.

 

“It’s the truth,” Phil said. “And I’m so, so sorry for what happened.  I never intended … when I found the spot where they’d taken you, it was easier to follow the trail as a wolf and then, once they had me, I couldn’t change back or they’d know.”

 

“Wait. You’re a …” Clint searched for the right word. “Werewolf?”

 

Phil gave him a wan smile. “No. They’re nothing more than old wives’ tales told to scare kids and justify violent behavior. We’re both wolf and human which, I know, doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what we are.”

 

“You’re Alpha primes. The whole origin story, how humans descended from wolves.” He couldn’t believe the irony. “H.Y.D.R.A. had an alpha prime and they didn’t even know it.”

 

“We’re not …” Phil sighed. “Humans aren’t descended from wolves any more than we are. In fact, there’s a Lycean biologist who believes wolves came from us, an evolutionary branch that led to a separation of our two halves.”

 

“Two halves,” Clint repeated. “I’m still not sure I’m buying this.”

 

“How many wolves do you know who can break out of a cell and stage a rescue?” Phil asked. “You live under the same roof as a super-soldier, a Norse god, and a woman who can work magic, but a wolf who gives you water is out of the realm of possibility?”

 

“Okay, fair point.”  His life was pretty damn psychedelic, he’d admit that.  What was a shapeshifter in the mix? “So, options, that’s where this started.  What options?”

 

“Right.”  Phil’s fingers curled into fists and he pressed them against his thighs. “The fact is, there are very few Lyceans around; we’re pretty long-lived …”

 

“That’s twice you’ve used that word. Lyceans,” Clint interrupted.

 

“It’s what we call ourselves,” Phil replied. “We’re …”

 

“Like King Lycan? Where we get the term lycanthrope from?”  Clint’s brain hopscotched back to the werewolf issue.

 

“More like the Greeks got it from us.” Phil exhaled, tried again. “There’s maybe 600 of us and …”

 

“600 in the U.S.?  That’s not many.”

 

“In the world, Clint.  600 in the world. We’re spread thin; there’s a cluster outside of Mexico City, another near St. Petersburg and one in Busan.”

 

“Huh.” Clint thought about it. “Are you all wolves? Any chance T’Challa is really a panther?”

 

“We’re all wolves, and, no, the royal family of Wakanda is not Lycean.”  That got a hint of a smile from Phil; he always liked the connections Clint made. “The point is, there’s a reason there aren’t many of us;  it’s very difficult for us to conceive. Most start trying young and are lucky to have one child, two at the most, and then it’s almost always a female omega who carries the baby to term. Unfortunately, our population is about 70/30 male-to-female and that’s before taking out the female alphas.”

 

A flutter in Clint’s gut, like the tiniest of butterfly wings, and he made the leap. “You’re the father,” he said, the realization dawning. “And this may be your only chance to have a kid.”

 

Phil turned away, refusing to meet Clint’s eyes. “The odds were never good, not with me going into the Army then straight to S.H.I.E.L.D., and now I’m too old, or at least I thought I was.”

 

“You want to keep it.”  Of course he did. Phil would be a great Dad; Clint had seen him with his nephews, had been welcomed at the Coulson house for Christmas the last few years, he and Natasha, as part of the family.  

 

“The choice is yours, Clint.  I mean that, especially considering how ... “ Phil closed his eyes. “If you decide to try to carry to term and give the child up, I’ll gladly raise it.  If you want to end the pregnancy, then that’s your right, and I’ll respect it.”

 

“And if I want to keep it? Raise the kid myself?” The flutter happened again, light brushes from the inside out. “You willing to walk away if I ask?”

 

“Yes.” HIs lids opened and, for a second, blue wolf eyes stared at Clint. “And I’ll arrange for other Lyceans to help prepare you for the kid’s special needs.”

 

He sucked in a breath as his stomach rebelled, pizza threatening to come up.  Phil pressed the bottle of water into his hand; he sipped and waited for the nausea to pass.

 

“I need some time,” he told him.  “I can’t .. I need to think.”

 

“Of course.” Phil rose, phone in his hand.  “I’ve texted Natasha; she’ll be here shortly.”

 

As he turned to leave, Clint said, “The amniocentesis. It’s gonna come back tomorrow …”

 

“And it will show the child is 100% human because it is. Bruce already believes they manipulated ova in the lab; it’s a short hop to using in vitro-fertilization to implant it.  Much easier to think they were sadistic fuckers who wanted to watch.”

 

The sunny day turned cold as Clint hunched in on himself, flashbacks filling his head, Phil’s words echoing. As much as Phil’s admission changed things, Clint had accepted the wolf as alpha and even bonded with it. Bonded with Phil. God, but the whole thing was a royal mess. Could he bring a child into the world with that backstory?  Or, an even harder question, could he deny Phil the chance to raise his child?

 

Even though Natasha knew something had happened, she kept her counsel to herself over the next few days.  When Bruce announced the baby was healthy and human … and an omega girl … Clint had already made up his mind. Neither Nat or Bruce seemed surprised when he told them he was going through with the pregnancy.  He’d intended to tell Phil too, but Phil had been called away on WSC business, so Clint had to settle for a coded text; he left the conversation about how involved Phil would be until he could see him face-to-face.

 

As for the others, he bearded that lion by calling them all together and making one big announcement, telling them everything except the wolf part of the story. They didn’t hesitate to circle the wagons and support him wholeheartedly.  Tony named the baby Hawkette then, after Pepper raised an eyebrow at the diminutive ending, changed it to Merida which became Merry in short order, complete with Hobbit jokes about second breakfasts. Steve bent over backward not to offer Clint a seat every time he walked into a room and showed up at all his doctor visits, especially the ultrasounds.  Sam’s grandmother began sending all sorts of knitted blankets and little purple outfits; with perfect tiny stitches, she should have been selling them on Etsy for a lot of money. Bucky, well, when he was around the compound, he stalked Clint, following him everywhere; when Tony made a joke about Clint have his own personal bodyguard, Bucky gave him his best murder stare and Tony never mentioned it again.  

 

Natasha knew something was up. Everyone noticed the way Phil made himself super scarce as the weeks passed and Clint’s belly grew larger.  One assignment after another, Phil was flying around the world, constantly in his office filling out endless paperwork, or up on the helicarrier taking care of business. Tony finally had Jarvis sound an intruder alert when Phil was on the premises; the klaxon annoyed everyone but got the message across.  After that, Phil came to two different check-ups and even had a conversation about shared custody that lasted all of ten minutes before he was gone again.

 

The more Clint thought about it … and he thought about it a lot as he watched the others fly off to battle the big bad of the week … the more convinced he became that Phil wanted nothing to do with him.  The baby, yes, but Clint? It was obvious Phil was going out of his way to avoid him and, well, Clint couldn’t blame him. He’d managed to do some research and, turns out, bestiality wasn’t exactly the kind of kink most people talked about in polite company, much less actually followed through on.  Granted, he hadn’t exactly been willing and there’d been enough drugs to fuel another Woodstock, but that didn’t explain why he was still dreaming about it and getting off on the memories. If he was brutally honest with himself … and he was getting into that habit lately … he just might be a kinky fucker. No wonder Phil wasn’t sticking around.

 

They could have gone on that way until the baby came if it hadn’t been for a phone call.  Clint had just finished an hour on the treadmill and was heading to the range when his cell buzzed. He saw the name and almost didn’t answer, but the fact she was contacting him was worrying.  

 

“Hey, Mrs. C.”  He ducked into an empty conference room. “Is everything okay?”

 

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Julie Coulson said. “I haven’t been able to get hold of Phil for almost a month. Usually, he tells us if he’s going to be out of contact, but he didn’t, and I’ve left message after message.  I’m beginning to think the worst.”

 

Fuck. Last thing Clint wanted to do was have this conversation; he didn’t even know if Phil had told his parents yet.

 

“I think he’s out of the country.” Clint used to be a spy; he could do this. “Probably doesn’t have access; he’ll call as soon as he can.”

 

“It’s just … well, he sounded so strange the last few times we’ve talked. I asked about Christmas plans and he shut me down. You are coming, aren’t you?  Natasha said you’d hurt your shoulder and were on desk duty, so you’re free.”

 

That had Nat’s meddling fingers all over it; she’d been not-to-subtly poking at the situation, trying to get him to talk about it for the last three weeks, ever since Phil had disappeared to the Far East on short notice.

 

“Oh, I don’t think I can …”

 

“You know it doesn’t matter if Phil’s here or not; you and Natasha are family.  Patricia’s not going to make it; some big merger with a Korean firm means she and Quentin are spending the holidays with friends in Busan, so it will just be Rob and me.”  

 

“It’s just … not a good time right now … and I’m in this sling …” Clint desperately tried to find a way out of the invitation.

 

“We finished the upgrade on the downstairs bath; the bars are in and that special tub/shower you told us about, the one you had in that hotel in Spain.  Mother’s already used it on her last visit, so you can have the ground floor room that attaches to it.” Once Julie Coulson set her mind to something, she got her way.  Phil came by his stubbornness honestly.

 

“I’ll have to check my calendar.”  That sounded lame even by his standards.

 

“Why don’t you talk to Phil about it, at least see if he’ll be back in time? I understand the whole saving the world thing comes first, but I know my son and this is something personal. Tell him to get off his ass and call his mother.”  

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint agreed because what else was he to do?  

 

“Good,” she said. “So I’ll see you on the 20tht or so; be sure and call before you get started and watch the weather.”

 

After the line went dead, he stood stock still for a good minute then leaned a hand on the table and hung his head; the baby twisted, shoving a foot up into his rib cage and stretching.  He groaned and tried to arch his back, make her take a different position, but only succeeded in making it harder to breathe.

 

“Agent Barton, do you need help?” Jarvis asked. Tony had tweaked the A.I.’s protocol to watch for any signs of distress or early labor.  

 

“Can you find Phil and make him talk to me?” Clint grimaced as he pushed against the round lump in his stomach. “‘Cause otherwise it’s just this little ballerina doing her thing.”

 

“I’ll have a connection for you in three, two …”  Phil’s face projected in the air and Clint heard him pick up.

 

“Coulson.”  

 

“Ah, um, hey,” Clint sputtered. “Sorry, I didn’t think Jarvis would do it …”

 

“Clint?”  Concern colored the familiar voice; a shiver ran down Clint’s spine. He’d forgotten how good Phil sounded. “Is everything okay? It’s still early …”

 

“No, no, I’m good. Well, except for the kid doing gymkata at 3 a.m. and boxing with my bladder.  She’s gonna be a night owl.” He was babbling; he needed to pull himself together. “It’s your mom. She just called me, looking for you, asking about Christmas plans and what’s up. Says she’s left messages …”

 

“Yeah.” Phil scrubbed a hand over his face; his dark circles under his eyes had dark circles of their own. “I’ve been moving non-stop for the last ... “ He glanced at his phone, “... fifty-two hours. We’re almost finished; Barnes has a bead on the last target. Should be home by the 18th; I’ll have to …”  The call cut in and out, white static briefly wiping the image before it returned. “Tell her the 21st. That gives me time to debrief and get there.”

 

“Natasha told her about my arm …” more static; he waited until it was over “... and she wants to know if we’re coming, Nat and me.” Phil grimaced, his lip curling down. “Don’t worry, I told her I couldn’t, but you know how determined she is.”  

 

“No, no, that wasn’t for you …”  Phil’s head turned and Clint saw the interior of the quinjet. Barnes was unstrapping from the seat next to him and Melinda, in the pilot seat, was shouting something back at them. “Of course you should go; Mom will be disappointed if you don’t.  We’ll drive up …” the image froze, jerked, but the sound continued “... about to hit the drop zone. We’ll talk when I get …”

 

“I’ve lost the connection,” Jarvis said.  “If you like, I can use the S.I. satellite to boost the signal.”

 

“No, but thanks, J.”  Pressure let up on his sternum and he felt better than he had in days. “For making the call.”

 

“Not a problem, sir.  I monitor the Avengers whereabouts at all times and can share the information unless it is classified.”

 

“Huh. So can you tell me where Phil is right now?”  Something niggled in the back of his brain. Phil was in Chiang Mai, Thailand, or at least that’s what Clint had heard, so why was he jumping out of the jet?

 

“Agent Coulson is currently above the Rajasthan Province in India, falling at a rate of 108 miles per hour.  Target destination is about 4 miles outside of Longewala.”

 

“What the … Hey, J, can you make me a list of the places Phil’s been in the last eight weeks?”  

 

“I can; for the ones that involve mission blackouts, would you like partial travel itineraries? I also log refueling and other stops that aren’t deemed confidential.”

 

“Sneaky, J, sneaky. Yes, I would.”

 

By the 16th when Barnes returned, a gash on one cheek and some bruising that lasted two days, Clint had a list of place names that were more than coincidentally linked to H.Y.D.R.A. bases.  Cornering Bucky in the communal kitchen, he laid it on the counter and got up in his face to demand answers.

 

“Just what the hell are you and Phil up to?” Clint had to lean on his hands to keep from overextending his back which had been hurting off and on all morning.  “These are all H.Y.D.R.A. labs and you’ve been hitting them one after another ever since I got back.”

 

“Chill out,” Bucky told him, reaching around his stomach to open the fridge.  “Just cleaning up a few loose ends, that’s all.”

 

“What loose ends?”  Clint’s frustration threatened to boil over; he so easily lost his temper these days. He chalked it up to the lack of a good night’s sleep and the constant state of heartburn. “No one said anything about loose ends.  It’s all taken care of, nothing left. That’s what I was told. If that Doctor is still out there …”

 

“She’s not.”  Natasha jumped up on the counter and snatched the milk carton from Bucky’s hand, moving out of reach before he could drink straight from the lip. “But we pulled names from her phone and have backtracked to some other H.Y.D.R.A. locations.”

 

“You think she was in contact with others?  Sharing information? Damn it, Nat, why didn’t someone tell me? I’m not fragile, you know.”

 

“I don’t know about the others, but I was planning on using it as my shower gift.” Bucky took a long drink of orange juice from the glass container. “No clue about baby clothes, but wiping out some bad guys to make the world safer works for me.”  

 

“Yeah, thanks.”  Clint swiped the juice and swallowed down what was left.  “Wait. Others? Did everyone know?”

 

“Some of us figure things out faster.” Tony patted Clint’s shoulder then grimaced at the empty container. “Heathens.  I live with heathens.” He tossed it into the recycle bin when Clint set it down. “Of course, you’ve got an excuse, the whole hormones gone crazy. Been reading up on the third trimester, have you started nesting yet?  If I find twigs and branches in the hallway, I’m going to be peeved.”

 

“Ha, ha.”  Clint felt better; Tony’s joking was so normal, he relaxed and went along with it. “I’m ordering special wood from the Middle East; charged it to your black card.”

 

“Ummm,”  Tony merely raised one eyebrow.  “Speaking of … I saw this pillow fort support thing. It’ll be here Thursday. Should help you sleep better.”

 

“I’ll be gone by then.”  Clint nudged Natasha’s knee to scoot over then joined her on the counter. “Nat and I have holiday plans.”

 

“The Coulson’s?”  Steve beat Bucky to the last vanilla cream soda.  “They’re so nice; Phil brought back some of his dad’s homemade scones last time he went up there. They were amazing.”

 

“You should taste his stollen; best I’ve had in America,” Natasha said. “I put on five pounds every time I go up there.”

 

“Bet they’re going to fuss over you.” Sam, sweaty from a workout, elbowed his way in to get a bottle of water. “Is this their first grandkid?”

 

“Third, I think.”  Bruce grabbed a carton of leftover red curry and stuck it in the microwave. “Phil’s sister has two boys; he’s got a picture of them in his room.”

 

“What?”  Clint jerked up. “What do you mean? I’m not … Phil’s not ..”

 

“Two and two, Barton, two and two,” Tony said. “I mean, sucks how it happened but you were together anyway, so …”

 

“Phil and I aren’t together,” Clint objected, looking to Natasha for help.

 

“They both think they’re not good enough for the other,” Natasha supplied. “So they pine very loudly.”

 

“I don’t …” Clint started to panic.

 

“Hey.”  Steve was in front of him, excluding his calming alpha scent. “I’m sorry.  We didn’t mean to meddle …”

 

“Stark did. Meddling is his hobby,”  Pietro said; he zipped passed then offered Clint a bottle of Tony’s favorite sparkling spring water.

 

“I resemble that remark.” Stark tossed Clint a packet of chocolate covered acai berries, his latest craving.

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “It’s like living with children.”

 

“Good practice for when Merry arrives,” Stark replied.

 

“How’s our little fetiță today?” Wanda asked.

 

She held her hands out and waited.  Once Clint nodded, she rested her palms on him, little tendrils of red curling over his belly.

 

Closing her eyes, she smiled. “She’s growing; it’s almost like she’s dreaming.”

 

“She’s been kickboxing; gonna be an MMA fighter,” Clint groused.  He’d been loath to let Wanda sense the baby, but she’d been true to her promise to keep her power limited.

 

“Oh, she likes that, her father’s voice.”  Wanda smiled. “Especially when … you sing to her?”

 

“Mostly rock songs.” Natasha put a hand next to Wanda’s. “But he turns them into lullabies.”  

 

“Have you tried classical music?” Bruce asked. “Study shows playing music while they’re in the womb can increase intelligence.”

 

“I’m with Barton on this one. Classic rock all the way, man,” Tony said. “Bring the kid up right from the start.”

 

“Good God.”  Clint closed his eyes and laid his head on Natasha’s shoulder. “I’ve lost complete control of my life.”

 

“And that’s a bad thing? To have others who care?” she asked.  

 

“Who poke their noses in my business?”  Clint came back.

 

“Who wants to protect this little one?”  Wanda smiled at him. “You know, she’s ours too.”

 

“We’re family.”  Sam leaned against the counter, keeping his bottle away from Bucky’s reach. “Some of whom are pains-in-the-ass, sure, but they mean well.”

 

“At least I’m keeping her safe, Wilson, unlike you whose idea of protection is sticking plastic things in light sockets.” Bucky gave up annoying Sam and went for the still warm carton of Bruce’s leftovers.

 

“There’s no need,” Tony said. “Already set Jarvis to monitor the outlets and pretty much anything with a current and drop the voltage if she so much as blinks at it.”

 

“I’ll try to get them to go easy on you and Phil,”  Steve told him.

 

“Something tells me that’s a losing proposition, Cap.”  Clint stroked a hand over his belly. “But thanks anyway.”

 

When the 20th rolled around and Phil was going to be at least another day, Clint and Natasha left on their own, Tony insisting they take a private jet instead of driving, getting ahead of a downward swing of the jet stream that was going to bring snow and sleet. Clint agreed because he knew stopping every twenty minutes to pee would annoy Nat and he could nap on the flight.  So they left the morning of the 21st and landed at the Billings, Montana airport to find a Range Rover waiting; as they drove the rest of the way, Clint saw the familiar roads with new eyes. Off the beaten track, up a small two-lane road, into a gated community of only six houses, each far enough apart to not see the other and on the edge of a wilderness area. Isolated, nestled in the woods, the Coulson’s home was snug and just big enough for the family when everyone came to visit. Their yard was the mountains, the view expansive, the whole valley spread out below.  He’d wondered, the first time he’d come, why they lived so far out from civilization; now he understood why.

 

Pulling into the driveway, he sat for a few moments as the engine began to cool and let the worry consume him.  He’d never gotten to ask Phil how much his parents knew and now it was too late. Rob Coulson was opening the front door, coming down the steps, and taking the bag from Natasha’s hands.  There was nothing to do but step out of the car and deal with the fallout.

 

“You’re early!”  Rob was saying as he juggled the duffle to his left hand. “We weren’t expecting you until closer to dinner.”

 

“We made good time,” Natasha said. “Had a tailwind.”

 

“Phil called, said he’d be in by supper …” His eyes landed on Clint, widened as he took in the rounded stomach, then he broke into a smile that brightened his whole face. “You didn’t tell us!  Jules! Clint’s expecting!”

 

Where Rob Coulson looked like an older, slightly greying copy of Phil, Julie was a petite whirlwind, 4’ 11”, short salt-and-pepper pixie cut, and a personality the size of the state.  She paused on the steps, looked at Clint, then flew the rest of the distance, enveloping him in a hug; the taut line of tension in his chest broke, relief flooding through him.

 

“A baby!”  Her grin practically glowed; ducking her head, she aimed her next words at Clint’s belly. “Your daddy didn’t tell us you were coming, but you’re welcome, little one.”  

 

“Yeah?  I wasn’t sure …” Emotion welled up in his throat and tears gathered at the corner of his eyes; he blamed the damned hormones.

 

Mrs. Coulson swatted him on the shoulder. “Of course.”

 

He saw her nostrils flare and he didn’t miss the widening of her eyes as her scented him.  

 

“How far along?”  Rob asked, oblivious to the exchange; he was already at the door, holding it open for Natasha.  

 

“Twenty-eight weeks,” Clint said as Julie mentally calculated and quickly arrived at the far too obvious answer.

 

“And how’s your shoulder?”  she asked, looping an arm around his middle and walking him into the house.  “Phil said something about six months to recover mobility?”

 

“Still have to wear the sling for so awhile each day, but I’m getting there,” Clint answered.

 

“Now, Jules, you know how they don’t like to talk about work stuff,” Rob admonished. “Besides they just got here and there are fresh scones …”

 

“Scones?” The baby picked that moment to do a backflip. “Blueberry?”

 

“Rob’s branching out.  They’re white chocolate macadamia nut,” Julie said.  “Come on and we’ll get you one or two; there’s time before dinner.”

 

“I’ve got ribs in the smoker,” Rob called over his shoulder.  “Been there since yesterday.”

 

They asked questions, of course, but nothing about how or why, just due dates (any day now considering no one expected him to carry to term), potential names (which he’d put off thinking about because Phil should be part of the decision), and plans for the nursery (that he was leaving entirely to Tony and Pepper and Sam and, surprisingly, Bucky who all had ideas about cribs and rockers and wallpaper). Three scones, two bathroom breaks later,  he slipped outside, taking the trail up to the overlook not far from the house. The cool crisp air felt wonderful on his bare arms in his A-line t-shirt. The baby was his own personal heater; he hadn’t worn a coat all fall.

 

“So this is what’s bothering Phil.”  

 

He’d heard her coming; she hadn’t tried to be quiet.

 

“I don’t know,” Clint admitted.  “If it is, he’s not talking to me about it.”

 

“Oh, that’s so him.  When he was a boy, he’d disappear whenever he was upset or angry or hurt.  When Tricia won Student of the Year their Junior year in high school, three days we searched for him; he’d taken his sleeping bag and whatever he could find in the kitchen drawers and hiked up to the falls.  He knew he’d earned that B in one nine weeks of gym because he hated his dancing partner, but didn’t want to admit it. Can’t say I blame him; Denise Wilkins was intense and had set her sights on him from freshman year.”  Julie sat down on the bench built with logs and the natural rock. “If he feels responsible in any way, he’s probably wound up tight; he gets that from both the Coulson and the Pappas side of the family.”

 

“He’s not … “ Clint wasn’t sure how much to deny or what excuse to use.  

 

“I know my son’s overdeveloped sense of duty. Explains a lot, actually; he was very reticent to talk, and usually, he’s full of stories about things you’ve done. He’s never been subtle in his emotional attachments.”

 

“I … no … we’re not …” Clint stumbled over his tongue. “Why does everyone think we are?”

 

“Because you love each other, darling.  Anyone with eyes can see it.” She smiled at him.  “Well, anyone on the outside looking in. I took a ridiculously long time realizing how I felt about Rob; we met in third grade, did you know that?  Didn’t start dating until college.”

 

“That’s a pretty slow burn.”  Clint had to smile at the thought of an eight-year-old Julie Pappas meeting little Robert Coulson. “Bet you had him wrapped around your finger from the beginning.”

 

“Oh, no, he had no clue!  He was too caught up in his Matt Mason toys then it was robots.  Math was his first love; now we co-exist in Rob’s life.” She laughed. “Everyone else knew long before he got up the courage to ask me out. You, well, after Phil cut a visit short because you’d broken your leg jumping off some building, the look on his face when he got the call said it all.”

 

He couldn’t imagine it was true.  Phil was always so together, had handled everything they’d been through with calm aplomb. Even now he was out there chasing down possible threats while Clint wallowed in his self-imposed misery.

 

“Ah, Mrs. C, pretty sure you’re wrong on this one.  I don’t …”

 

Julie whipped her head around at the same time as Clint.  Jumping up, Clint stepped in front of her, shielding her from the man who stepped out of the tree line.  

 

“So it is true.” Wearing a black jacket, black pants, and black boots, the man had field goggles and a very deadly Walther PPK in his hand. “Shandler really did it, imagine that.”

 

“Actually, she didn’t.”  Clint scanned the forest for more men. “She cheated.”

 

He barked a laugh but his gun didn’t waver. “Of course she did!  That was Miriam to a tee; get funding no matter who she had to fuck over to do it. How did she manage it?  Male omegas are notoriously difficult to impregnate.”

 

“She whipped it up in a lab and used synthetic HGC. Not really that hard; there are fertility doctors who do the same thing.” Clint eased ever so slightly to his left as the marks on his shoulder flared warm then hot.  “The rest, she had nothing to do with; that’s all to my OB-GYN who’s really, really good. So you and your hired thugs can get the hell out of here.”

 

“Miriam might have failed, but her loss is my gain.  I need subjects and finding a viable fetus from a male omega is rare. You see, it’s not in the conception that we’ll find the wolf, it’s genetic transference while they’re still developing. Now come along with me, and I promise the others will die quickly and relatively painless.”  

 

A red dot appeared on a nearby tree; it slid across the ground and centered on Julie’s brow, right between her eyes. Clint tensed for action, gauged the distance, and waited.

 

“That’s a mistake,” Clint warned.  “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”  

 

“You mean the old man and the woman in the house?  They’re in my crosshairs right now. Not even an Avenger can dodge a high-speed bullet they don’t see coming.” The brush moved behind the man, a shadow ghosting through the woods. “You’re outnumbered and won’t risk the child.”

 

Four men appeared, arrayed around them, two on Clint’s right, two on his left.  He always took the ones on his left; Phil knew that.

 

“It’s not him you have to worry about,” Julie said, her voice carrying across the clearing. “This is our land and you’re trespassing.”

 

“Trespassing is the least of my sins.”  The man brought his phone up to his ear.  “Ready? On my …”

 

The wolf lunged, teeth closing on the man’s forearm and dragging it away from his body. Clint knocked Julie aside as a bullet zipped past where her head had just been then he launched himself at the nearest guy with the momentum, using his new center of balance to dodge and come up under the man’s block, hitting him squarely in the chest.  The guy stumbled back, lost his footing, and went tumbling down the side of the mountain, but Clint didn’t stay to watch, pivoting to the other one, grabbing the hanging strap of his Uzi and yanking it from his hands. The butt connected with the man’s head, and he went down hard, unconscious before he hit the ground.

 

By the time Clint, spun back around; a smaller grey wolf was snarling as it shook one of the men’s arms.  Clint’s wolf … Phil … was sitting on the leader.

 

“He had snipers on Rob and Natasha.”  Clint walked over. “We need to …”

 

He was tackled by the wolf, knocked on his ass, then the sniffing and licking started; Phil checked every part of his body from toes to the top of his head.  

 

“I’m fine.”  Clint tried to bat him away but he had his arms full of a concerned wolf.  “Really, not a scratch. Jesus, Phil, first you ignore me for months and now you want to lick me to death?”

 

A whine and the smaller wolf nudged Phil, snapping at him when he didn’t move fast enough.  

 

“Listen to your mother,” Clint said. “We have to check on Rob and Natasha …”  

 

“We’re good.”  Rob Coulson waded between the wolves. “Wow, I’ve never seen anyone move like that, much less someone seven months pregnant. I mean, I see you TV on the footage, but that was … wow.”

 

“So you’re Lyceans?”  Natasha glared down at them all. “I think we need to have a conversation, don’t you?”

 

Phil hung his head and managed to look contrite; he circled around Clint and hid behind his back.

 

“Oh, no, you get to explain this, all of this.”  Clint took Rob’s offered hand and stood up.

 

There were bodies to deal with; Clint grabbed a shovel, but Rob waved him off and opened the shed. With a shovel attachment on his tractor, he made short work of carting the mercenaries into the forest, digging a hole and burying them.

 

“Far enough away to avoid attracting animals near the house,” Rob explained.

 

Clint didn’t ask; he honestly didn’t want to know why Phil’s parents so calmly dealt with the violence. He helped and kept his mouth shut when Rob told him how Natasha had taken out the other two.

 

“I brought your jacket,” Phil said, holding out the leather coat. “Sun’s going down and I thought you might be getting cold.”  

 

“Thanks.”  Clint took it and folded it over his arm. “We’re about done.”

 

“I’m going to head back,” Rob said as he climbed on the tractor and put it in gear.  “Got to check the smoker, get the sauce ready.”

 

“Need help?” Phil asked his father. “I could …”

 

“You can stay here and talk things out.” Rob’s tone brooked no argument. “Enough of the hiding, Philip.  Clint deserves better.”

 

“He doesn’t have to …” Clint started to protest, but Rob cut him short.

 

“He does. I might not have the sense of smell the others do, but I’m pretty sure that’s my grandbaby you’re carrying, and I damn well expect to play a part in its life.”  His grin lightened the demand. “Couldn’t be happier to welcome you to the family, son. No matter what happened, that’s the best gift you could give us.”

 

He rode off between the trees as a warm happiness flooded Clint. “I really love your parents,” he said to Phil. “They’re freaking amazing.”  

 

“Yeah, well, he’s right. I’ve been avoiding you and it’s not fair. I’m just not good at this, talking about emotions and feelings, especially when I’m the one to blame for ....”  

 

“No.”  Clint cut him off. “Don’t start that. You take too much on yourself, always have; some things are beyond your control.”

 

“Damn it, Clint, stop letting me off the hook. I can’t imagine how you can stand being in the same room with me, much less tell me it’s not my fault.”  Phil stuck his chin out and clenched his jaw. “I need to be held accountable for what I did.”

 

“What did you do that was so horrible, Phil?” Clint demanded. “What drove you to risk life and limb on your crusade to destroy H.Y.D.R.A. rather than be near me? ‘Cause I have to tell you, I don’t have a clue.”

 

“I raped you.”  Phil spit the words out like they were burning hot.  “I held you down and forced myself on you. Over and over again. I didn’t stop, didn’t care what you wanted, I just …”  He almost choked on the admission. “And what’s worse, I was my wolf when I did it. That’s one of the lines we never cross. You didn’t know and I …”

 

“Jesus Christ.”  Clint couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  “You didn’t rape me; even doped up on all those damn drugs, you did everything you could to protect me.  You kept me warm, made me drink water, cleaned me, tried to stop them from hurting me. They were sadistic bastards who used both of us. End of story.”

 

“I should have stopped …”  

 

“Then I shouldn’t have done it either, but I did.  I put my ass in the air and begged. Not for Phil Coulson, because I didn’t know it was you. I offered myself to a wild animal like I was some bitch in heat …” Clint turned and slipped on his jacket as goosebumps appeared on his arms.  “All this time I thought that’s why you didn’t talk to me, that you were repulsed by what I’d let you do to me and how much I wanted it.”

 

“It was the drugs, your heat,” Phil said.

 

“Maybe.”  Clint shrugged.  “But that doesn’t explain the dreams I had after, how much the memories turn me on. Pretty sure I get off on it, Phil.  How’s that for a kink, eh?”

 

Phil looked thunderstruck by Clint’s confession.  “You did? You do? I didn’t … I thought …”

 

“Well, there it is.”  Clint turned, prepared to leave things as they were. “Now you know.”

 

“Wait   …” Phil reached out a hand, but stopped, dropping it by his side.  “I only wanted you to be safe and to not hurt you anymore.” He stepped closer, but still didn’t touch Clint.  “Do you mean it? That you think about it, us? Together?”

 

“Yeah,” Clint admitted. “And not just since …”  He rubbed a hand over his belly, “ … but before too.”

 

“God, I’ve messed this up, haven’t I?”  

 

Phil’s shoulder slumped and he looked so sad that Clint didn’t pause to think before he took Phil’s hand and placed it the lump that was the baby’s foot.  Phil’s eyes widened and the edges of his lips turned up in a soft smile.

 

“That’s usually my line,” Clint said. “But this time, I think we’ve both been idiots.”  

 

“Oh.”  Phil jumped as Clint’s stomach rippled.  “She’s moving.”

 

“She’s a damn ninja, doing backflips or some parkour shit all the time,” Clint said. “Bruce says that means she’s healthy, but I think she’s going to be hell-on-wheels once she’s out of there.”

 

“Mom says Tricia and I fought as much in the womb as we did as kids.”  Phil’s fingers stroked over the soft cotton of Clint’s tee. “She claims she didn’t get a good night’s sleep until we went to college.”

 

“Sleep is vastly overrated.”  Clint stared at the wonder in Phil’s eyes.

 

“Is there any chance to fix this?”  Phil asked quietly. “I’d like to try … I want …”

 

“What?”  The words were little more than a whisper. “What do you want?”

 

“You.”  Phil looked directly at him. “Her.”  His gaze flicked down and back up. “The three of us.”

 

“Raising her together?” Clint had to be sure. “Or…”

 

Phil’s lips were cool, the lightest of brushes, there for a moment then gone again, leaving only a lingering echo. Clint’s heart settled as the kiss ended, the mark on his shoulder practically singing as Phil’s scent washed over him.

 

“Are you really having dreams about…” Phil asked.

 

“Thing about pregnancy: it’s like being a teenager all over again when it comes to inconvenient boners,” Clint admitted. “Wolfy you features in some pretty steamy wet dreams. If that bothers you …”

 

“Quite the opposite.”  Phil clasped Clint’s hand, winding their fingers together. “It’s one of the reasons I’ve had so few relationships; hard to tell someone you want to turn into a wolf and  mount them.”

 

“Oh?”  Clint’s grin slipped across his face. “So it’s okay if I want you to make me howl?”

 

Phil rolled his eyes.

 

“Too soon?” Clint leaned back in and snuck another quick kiss. “So I guess I can’t say you’re packing?  That you can paw me anytime?”

 

“Come on.” Phil tugged and Clint followed.  “Dad’s pulled pork is the best, and you need more protein now that you’re eating for two.  He uses a lean roast and makes his own BBQ sauce, low sugar since he’s a diabetic.”

 

“Tell me you haven’t read that damn book,” Clint protested. “Sam gave it to Natasha and Steve then Bucky gave it to Tony and now they nag me to death about what I should and shouldn’t be doing.”

 

“I’ve been reading all the most current theories on healthy pregnancies,” Phil said as they walked the trail to the house. “Especially the Lyceanan ones.  We need a higher meat intake along with fish oil for coats and glucosamine for joints. Of course, you’ve been doing well without me going all alpha on you …”

 

“Why stop now?  You’ve been taking care of me since I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. Probably why Steve thought we were already together.”  

 

“Steve thinks … really?”  

 

“Natasha told him we’d been pining for each other for years.”  

 

“Natasha was always more insightful.”

 

“Oh, and they know you’re the father.”

 

Phil stopped a few steps away from the back door. “How?”

 

“We were the only two prisoners, so when Bruce told them it was in vitro …”

 

“... they’re smart enough to make the connection. Oh, God. Stark. Is he…”

 

“You have no idea.”

 

In the next two weeks, Clint learned a number of things.

 

First, his belly fit perfectly in the small of Phil’s back, supporting it better than any body pillow and, when the baby decided to break dance in the middle of the night, Phil could feel every kick.  

 

Second, Natasha already knew about Lyceans, but hadn’t cottoned to Phil being one despite all the years they’d worked together, so that made Clint feel better.  

 

Third, Bucky was more than happy to continue running H.Y.D.R.A. to ground once Phil decided he was done; he kept uncovering more and more villainous doctors with terrible plans and blowing them to hell.

 

Fourth, Tony Stark’s largesse really did know no bounds; he not only broke down the components of the drugs they’d used on Clint but also figured out how to make them safe and effective for fertility treatments that would be available much cheaper than anything currently on the market.  

 

Fifth, Clint realized he really, really, really needed to reorganize his closet, get rid of a bunch of old shirts and paint the nursery three different shades of purple because he couldn’t decide on one.

 

And, finally, he discovered that he was damn good at hero wrangling when he had Jarvis’ cameras, comm units, and a comfy chair with lumbar support in the quinjet at a nice safe distance from the action.

 

“There’s six of ‘em by the Omni hotel,” Clint told Steve. “Looks like they’re heading for the courthouse.”

 

“What the fuck do these guys want?”  Bucky complained as he picked off two of the shambling creatures from his perch on the top of the tower in Steel City Plaza. “It’s like they don’t have a clue.”

 

“Thor’s getting swamped over at Point State Park.” Clint flicked through camera angles. “And there’s more in Market Square. Sam’s free to help Thor; Rhodey, you’re closest to the others.” ”

 

“Well, they stink, I’ll give you that.”  Tony zipped past the PNC building and blasted a group in the middle of Forbes Avenue.

 

“J’s analysis is complete.”  Clint glanced at the scrolling information.  “They’ve got traces of seawater and isotopes from the … Jurassic period?”

 

“These guys are dinosaurs?” Sam asked.

 

“More like really old seaweed and …” Clint flipped through another screen. “Oh, hey, guess where there’s the world leading specialist on those isotopes? The University of Pittsburgh.  Anybody wanna pay this guy a visit?”

 

“On it.”  Phil slid into the seat of the van and started the engine, Natasha climbing in the passenger side.

 

“Directions arriving … now.”  Clint leaned back and scanned the screens.  “Looks like they’re massing at Heinz Hall and heading north towards the bridge.  Pietro, you’re fastest …”

 

He spun the chair to follow Pietro’s blur; his back twinged, the pain that had been bothering him all day graduating to throbbing that faded in and out.  

 

“Clint?”  Phil was driving the wrong way down Fifth Avenue, running every light. “You okay?”

 

“Nothing new, just the same as this morning. Hey, turn right. Looks like some campus security cars are blocking the perimeter of Duquesne University.”  He rubbed the curve of his back, tried pressing on the knot, but the incessant spasm only grew stronger.

 

“Backache?”  Steve didn’t even sound winded despite just jumping from rooftop to rooftop across Penn Avenue. “You know that can be …”

 

Footsteps on metal; Clint grabbed his bow, notching an arrow just as four H.Y.D.R.A. agents tried to board.

 

“Drop the weapon,” the lead man said. “And come with us.”

 

“Aw, seriously, guys?  I’m super busy right now. Can I have a raincheck?”  Clint asked. “Kind of in the middle of this diversion you created.”

 

“Put down the bow.”  The guy pressed the remote control button he had in his hand. “They won’t get here in time to save you.”

 

On the screen, the vaguely human-sized seaweed monsters began to grow then split into two, four, and eight.  Long arms sprouted claws and began swinging at anything that moved.

 

“What the fuck!” Tony shouted.

 

“Clint!”  Phil said at the same time.

 

“It’s simple math. The growth is exponential with each burst. If you come quietly, I’ll leave this here.”

 

“Aw, hell.” Clint slowly let the arrow fall away and the string release. “I really don’t want to do this.”

 

“Put it on the ground,” the guy ordered.  

 

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Bending over’s a challenge right now. How about I lay it here?” Clint placed the bow on the console. With a head nod, the guy directed one of the others to pick it up.

 

“You’re dumber than I thought,” the H.Y.D.R.A. guy said with a laugh.

 

Three things happened at once. The guy pressed the button, a terrible grin on his face. The team began shouting, Bucky’s creative cursing the loudest of all. And Clint ducked his head and plowed his shoulder into the guy, tackling him and knocking the device out of his hand.

 

“I told you.” Clint whirled and punched one of the others, ignoring the rippling cramp. “I am busy.”

 

He almost made it to the ramp; most of the H.Y.D.R.A. thugs were hesitant to hit an eight-month pregnant omega. But not the ringleader; he grabbed Clint by the ankle and yanked his leg out from under him.  Clint twisted as he fell, landed hard on the same damn shoulder as he curled to protect the baby.

 

“Okay. Nope.”  One of the other bad guys waved his gun. “Not good, man. There were no archive warnings; you gotta tag shit like babies in danger.”

 

Shots rang out and all the other H.Y.D.R.A. agents fell dead; the guy pulled his green and yellow mask off to reveal a red and black one underneath.

 

“Wade?”  Clint tried to draw in a breath, but the band across his stomach tightened. “You’re working with these guys?”

 

“I need the money; they needed an amoral sex god.” Wade shrugged. “So, you went and got knocked up?  Dude! That’s seriously cool. Who’s the baby daddy? Stark, right? Or that handsome fucker Chris Evans?  He could butter my bread anytime with that lumberjack beard.”

 

Another ripple radiated from Clint’s spine around to his belly button; he tried to straighten out only to feel a gush of warmth between his legs.

 

“Phil?”  Clint tapped his earpiece; no one responded.

 

“Coulson, of course.  Hey, that means Logan owes me $20.  Told him you two were married even if you’ve never actually been on the screen at the same time.”  Wade patted Clint on the shoulder. “You got a name yet? Ryan’s good.”

 

“It’s a girl,” Clint told him. With his earpiece not working, he couldn’t tell what was happening; he hoped the others were still listening.

 

“Oh, I pity the boy … or girl … she brings home to meet her daddies. Don’t worry; first babies take their sweet time getting here.  You’ve got plenty of seconds for sexy badass agent man to get you to the delivery room.” Wade tilted his head. “And that’s the sound of incoming concerned supertypes.  Hey, do me a favor and don’t name her Francis. Bad enough that’s you’re saddled with it. Vanessa’s much better. Or Inez.”

 

Another contraction squeezed his abdomen, and he tried to remember the training, how to breathe through it.  In for four, out with four short huffs of air. As it faded, he realized Wade was gone then pushed up, using the chair as a lever to get to his feet.

 

“J?”  

 

“Timing contractions and I’ve already notified Dr. Vick of your estimated arrival.  Agent Coulson’s ETA is one minute and 23 seconds. I have informed the others of your situation as well.”

 

He scooped up the remote from where it had bounced and dropped it on the scanner. “Tony might need this.”

 

“Scanning and sending data.”

 

“Ah.”  The next contraction was sharper, starting at his belly button and rolling up; he counted as he breathed, reaching 47 before the pressure released. “Fuck, it’s happening fast.”

 

“Dr. Banner theorized the drugs used at conception might affect delivery as well,” Jarvis told him. “It’s also not unusual for labor to manifest as back pains in the early stages.”

 

A rush of air and Carol landed on the ramp, releasing her hold on Phil. “Good luck,” she said before flying off again.

 

“Initiating take off,”  Jarvis said. The ramp closed, one of the bodies rolling off, the others pushed inside. “Air time is nineteen minutes.”

 

They made it in seventeen, meeting the doctor at the landing pad; Clint didn’t argue when they put him on a gurney, the contractions coming closer together. Before he was even in the operating room, they rolled him on his side and injected the spinal block; within ten minutes, the pain disappeared.

 

“Everything looks good,” the doctor told them.  “Moving fast, but we planned for that. You ready?”

 

“Not really, but hey, when has that ever stopped me?” Clint joked.

 

Considering all the damage his body had taken over the years, this was a simple procedure; he watched the scalpel make the incision, the tiniest tug when the doctor reached in, and felt the warmth of Phil’s hand in his as their daughter emerged, all six pounds and seven ounces of squirming baby, wrinkled skin covered in patches of white coating.  

 

She was the most beautiful thing Clint had ever seen.

 

When they brought her to him, washed and wrapped in a soft purple blanket, he had no words for the feeling that welled up in his chest, blocked his throat and brought tears to the corner of his eyes.  With Phil beside him and his daughter in his arms, Clint’s whole world shifted, broke apart, and reconfigured to something new. He stroked her cheek and let the change happen, welcomed it.

 

A little over an hour later, Clint was propped up in bed, Phil beside him.  Sitting with a clear view of the doors and windows, Natasha cradled the baby in her arms, rocking her gently as she slept.

 

“Hey.”  Steve stuck his head in the doorway.  “You up for a few visitors? Got some anxious aunts and uncles out here.”  

 

Clint glanced at Phil; they’d been watching carefully for any signs of change since the first twenty-four hours were usually when the Lycean gene manifested.  Odds were good she would be able to change -- Phil explained the genetics; it boiled down to about seventy/thirty -- but she’d have little to no control over it for a while. Of course, that meant keeping her isolated from everyone who didn’t know ... because, as Tony had pointed out, they lived with geniuses, magic users, mind readers, and people who were highly empathic and top of the charts on street smarts.  

 

“They’re going to figure it out eventually,” Phil murmured. “She’s safer here than anywhere else in the world. Might as well rip the bandaid off.”

 

Clint squeezed his hand and dropped a kiss on his cheek before he answered Steve. “Come on in.”

 

Steve beelined to Natasha and took the bundle when she offered. Sam was close on his heels, a wide grin on his face. Pietro zipped over and Thor joined the circle of admirers.  When Tony sauntered in, he perched on the end of the bed and snapped some pics with his phone.

 

“What is it about babies?” He asked no one in particular. “Turns everyone into babbling goofballs.”

 

“They’re cute and helpless and perfect,” Pepper said.  She easily cut through the bigger men to get her own look.  “Oh, she’s gorgeous, Phil. Look at that nose.”

 

“It’s evolutionary; our hormones have developed to think they’re cute so we’ll protect them,” Tony argued.  “Aside from the propagation of the species, they’re really not that special…”

 

“Here.”  Steve held her out. “You hold her.”

 

“I don’t … I …” Tony objected but he didn’t stop Steve from arranging the baby in his arms, showing him how to support her head in the bend of his elbow.  He looked at Pepper for help; she smiled, her eyes soft and tender. “Okay, I can do this. Nice and easy, just like working inside Dummy’s chassis.”

 

“How are you?” Wanda asked Clint. “With the  H.Y.D.R.A. agents, we were worried.”

 

“I’m good,” Clint told her. “The new skin sealant is amazing;  much better than stitches. Doc says once the swelling goes down, I won’t itch or have to worry infection. Beats the hell out of staples, that’s for sure.”

 

“Staples?”  Sam asked. “Do I want to know?”

 

“Crazy glue’s better.”  Bucky positioned himself in the doorway.  “Eventually goes away on its own; staples hurt more coming out.”

 

The baby squirmed and make noise; Tony shushed her but she started to cry.

 

“Here.”  Bruce scooped her up and walked her to Clint. “Has she been fed yet?”

 

“Yeah, she ate like a champ.”  Clint took his daughter. “Don’t think that’s gonna be a problem.”

 

“She’s probably just missing her daddies’ scents,”  Steve offered. “Touch is important for early bonding.”

 

“I’m going to burn every copy of that damn book,” Clint said.  

 

“That reminds me; there’s a great book about getting her on a set sleep schedule,” Sam said. “My sister highly recommends it. Says her kids were sleeping 6 hours at night by end of the first month.”

 

“Is that the one where you wake them up during the day?”  Wanda wrinkled her nose. “My mother always said never bother a sleeping baby.”

 

“Happy birthday, Baby Barton … or is it Coulson?” Carol said, interrupting what was likely to be a long discussion on the merits of sleep schedules as she pushed past Barnes with a bundle of balloons and a stuffed rabbit.

 

“Actually, now that everyone is here, we’ve got a couple of announcements to make.” Clint took the opportunity to redirect the conversation.  “Phil and I have decided on a name.”

 

“Oooooh, do tell, Legolas. Enquiring minds want to know,” Tony said.

 

“Well, since the Coulson family has a thing for P names …” Clint began.

 

“Tricia is short for Patricia,”  Pepper told Thor when he looked confused.

 

“And Patricia’s boys are Peter and Paul,” Natasha added.

 

“... and we both have a soft spot for women who can kick ass …” Clint continued.

 

“... and shoot a bow and arrow …” Phil added.

 

“... I’d like to introduce Margaret Merida Barton Coulson.”

 

Steve froze, Bucky smiled, and Tony laughed out loud.

 

“But Margaret does not start with a P,” Pietro said.

 

“Lots of Margarets go by the nickname Peggy,”  Bruce answered.

 

“For Peggy Carter,” Wanda told her brother.  “The founder of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

 

“She’d have been honored,” Steve said. “Sharon will love it.”

 

“Poor kid’s got a lot to live up to; Peggy took no shit and Merida gave her parents a run for their money. Not to mention that hobbits save the world.”  Rhodey chuckled. “You two need to be a united front.”

 

“Yeah, well, that’s why I talked Phil into making this thing more permanent; we got married three days ago …”

 

The room erupted as everyone but Natasha sputtered out questions and objections; she’d been their witness before the Justice of the Peace.

 

“If I may …” Phil’s voice quieted the others. “We plan to have a reception once Clint’s up to it and my sister returns from Korea; it was important to both of us to do it before Peggy was born from both a legal standpoint and to make clear our positions on omega rights. Once the news is out, there will be a lot of blowback from the media and conservative groups like Alphas First. Everyone needs to be ready for the questions that will come.”

 

“Aw, Phil, that was so romantic.”  Clint batted his eyes at his husband. “Better than talking dirty.”

 

“You’re impossible,” Phil said, smiling down at him. “And you know I love a challenge.”

 

“Anyone says anything, I’ll set ‘em straight,” Bucky declared.

 

“I’ve already created a bot that will notify us of any threats and wipe unauthorized pics from the interwebs,” Tony said.  “And I’ve got the best PR team on standby who live to take down homophobic, omeganistic assholes.”

 

“We’ll all take turns being seen in public with you and her.  A wall of Avenger support should temper the hue and cry,” Steve added.

 

“We highlight Clint’s return to the team,” Carol tossed in. “Make sure everyone knows he’s an equal and valuable member, omega parent and all.”

 

“I’m more worried about you, Phil.” Natasha rose from the chair.  “You’re not used to the limelight; are you prepared to be at the center of a media circus?”

 

Phil glanced at Clint then lingered on Peggy before he took a breath and answered.

 

“No, but it’s time,” he said. “My main job now is to keep Peggy safe and, to do that, there’s something I need to tell you, something I want to keep between us.”

 

“Is this where you tell us about the whole shapeshifting into a wolf thing?”  Tony asked. “Been there, done that, Coulson.”

 

“What?” Phil’s jaw dropped.  “You can’t know …”

 

“Yeah, sorry.” Bruce had the good grace to look abashed.  “Tony went looking for any potential implications from the fertility treatments and …

 

“You have these markers in your cytoplasm that I’d never seen before, so I  tracked down the biologist who wrote a paper on what they meant,” Tony said.

 

“And I caught Tony on a video conference about it and made the link to Lyceans,” Steve said.  “Wasn’t news to me; there’s a reason they called us the Howling Commandos. Gabe and Dum Dum were both like you; they were damn lucky Zola and Schmidt didn’t find out.”

 

“Little town where Grandma Wilson’s from had four families of Lyceans; everyone knew but never said anything.  This one time, a guy came through asking questions and they took him out to an abandoned mine shaft, told him that’s where they lived then left him there.” Sam grinned. “He was from New York City and wandered for two days before he found his way out. Snipe hunt indeed.”

 

“Doctor I worked with in Somalia was one,” Carol said. “He’d wander the camp at night, scaring off the militias who came sniffing around to steal our supplies or kidnap the girls. Pretty easy to put the H.Y.D.R.A. doctor’s brand of crazy together with Tony’s research.”  

 

“Our people have long been allies with the Lycean community. Besides, you broadcast very loudly when you are in your wolf form. That time in Karachi? When Clint went after that monster by himself?” Wanda asked.  “That’s how I knew.”

 

“Well, I, for one, am in the dark,” Rhodey admitted. “Phil’s a werewolf?”

 

“No,” seven people exclaimed..

 

“Ixnay on the erewolfay,” Clint said. “They don’t like that word.”

  


**EPILOGUE #1 -- EIGHT WEEKS LATER**

 

_Need, frantic scrabbling, empty, being filled … his heartbeat was the only fixed point, the accelerated thump, thump, thump, sometimes joined with an echo, near but not his, pressed along his back … aching, wanting, panting, pushing, pulling … Again and again and nothing but this, joining and being and spilling and filling and needing and sighing. Two, one, two, one, two, one ….Blue eyes, warm fur, possessive growls, teeth nipping at his skin._

 

Clint lay on the tangled sheets, sweat cooling on his overheated skin, fingers buried in Phil’s soft fur. His breathing grew deeper, his heart rate slowing as Phil curled along his back, licking idly at his bonding scar.

 

“Might be uncomfortable, my ass.” Clint exhaled, enjoying the fullness of Phil’s knot tying them together. “This is the best damn heat I’ve ever had; the book was wrong.”  

 

The doctors had warned him that the heat right after pregnancy might be awkward, even painful; despite his surgery scar being fully healed, they were concerned about the lasting effects of the drugs on his system.  

 

Phil huffed, nipped Clint’s earlobe lightly, then he shifted, body changing while still buried inside Clint.  First time he’d done that, Clint had a dry orgasm, an electrical spasm that nearly short-circuited his brain with intense pleasure. Now, he moaned as his cock jumped then settled back into spent exhaustion.

 

“Jesus, Phil, that’s the most fucking erotic thing ever.” Clint turned his head.

 

“Agreed.”  Phil kissed him, slow and easy, then rolled his hips in little shallow thrusts, his knot rocking into Clint. “I plan on doing it a lot more.”

 

Clint opened his mouth as Phil licked along the seam; this time, he relaxed into the motion and listened to Phil’s sighs that built to groans, enjoying the ripples that spread through his body.

 

Later, after a shower, while Phil was heating up the last of the venison stew, fogging up the cabin windows as it snowed outside, Clint checked his phone. Seven messages -- three from Tony about the new stroller he was developing with suit technology, two from Steve about trying to stop Tony from putting repulsors in the bottom of the stroller, one from Natasha laughing about the two of them, and one from Sam about fabric choices -- and Clint found a series of pictures of Peggy in various states of shifting.

 

“Your mom sent pics.”  He passed the phone to Phil. “The ears are my favorite.”

 

“She’s going to be grey,” Phil said, pride evident in his voice.

 

“Just like her dad.”  Clint slipped his arms around Phil’s waist and tucked his chin on his shoulder. “So, is it too early to buy her first bow?”

  
  


**EPILOGUE #2  -- 15 MONTHS LATER**

 

Clint ran along the top of the wall, firing as he went, ignoring the blood running down his arm from the gash across his bicep. He was almost out of arrows and switched to pistols as he ducked and weaved to avoid getting shot by the H.Y.D.R.A. agents pouring out of the base.  

 

“ETA, guys?”

 

He ducked around a corner, balanced on the slim upper pole of a chain link fence, and ran towards the side of the building.

 

“Coming out the north door, running hot. Need transpo and a clear path,” Natasha replied.

 

“Leave that to me.”  

 

The fence led to the pitched room; he vaulted over a gable and slid between dormers, boots catching on the metal gutters and stopping his movement.  A quick press of buttons, and he armed his last arrow, notching and sighting. Boots clattered somewhere behind him; bullets whizzed towards him as he waited.

 

“Tick, tick, tick,” he counted off the seconds.  “Heads up, kiddies.”

 

“Now!” Natasha shouted.

 

Clint let fly then hightailed it to the far corner, jumping just as the arrow tip exploded, blowing the hell out of everyone in a ten-foot radius. Catching the electrical wire with his bow, he ziplined over a long low building, rolling as he hit the ground just feet from a row of parked trucks, Natasha falling in beside side of him.

 

“I’m driving.” Natasha shoved a bundle of what looked like rags towards Clint; he grabbed it instinctively as he climbed in the passenger seat. “We’ve got to get James.”

 

In the seconds it took to get the engine started, Clint looked down and realized he was holding a baby boy. Dark brown eyes stared up at him from a dirty face, watching his every move; so solemn and quiet, the baby didn’t make a sound as Nat peeled out, slinging the back end around and heading for the loading dock.  Clint shot, picking off H.Y.D.R.A. goons as Natasha mowed down any who got between her and her target, one very pissed off James Buchanan Barnes who was sprinting their way, firing behind him while holding another bundle tight to his chest.

 

“Go, go, go, go!” He shouted, tumbling into the back of the truck. “T-minus twelve!”

 

Clint didn’t ask, just hunkered down, used his body to protect the baby, and held on for dear life as Natasha careened out of the compound, gas pedal all the way to the floor. They crashed through the gate, skidded on a patch of ice before the tires hit the graveled ruts of the road. He could hear Bucky counting down, had a flashback to the desert then the truck jumped as the ground shook, the roar of the explosion blasting past them.  In the rearview mirror, he saw a fireball rise up, brighter than the wan winter sun.

 

“So we nuked the site from orbit?” he asked.

 

Bucky’s face was ashen, streaks of blood smeared down one cheek;  as he pulled away the tattered blanket, a blonde haired little girl, maybe two-years-old at the most, thumb in her mouth and Bucky’s arms holding her tight, blinked big violet eyes at Clint.  

 

“We nuked the site.”  Clint knew that look; if Bucky was shaken then … he turned to see Natasha’s hands gripping the wheel, her knuckles white. Tears streaked her cheeks, her face set in a grim mask.  

 

“It was … Oh, God. They killed them.  All of them. Yesterday or the day before.  Kids, Clint. They were just kids.” A sob caught in her throat.  “They were … liquidating them. Cutting their losses.”

 

Fucking H.Y.D.R.A. Bastard sons-of-a-bitches, every damn one.

 

“We got these two,” he reminded her. “You saved them.”

 

“They were … underneath …” Bucky gritted his teeth, his metal hand clenching and unclenching into a deadly fist.  “Burning’s too damn good for them. I’m going back and make sure not a single one of those fuckers survive.”

 

The girl shrank away from the anger in those words, making her body as small as possible.

 

“It’s okay.”  Clint smiled at her, his best daddy smile, the one that made Peggy laugh. “You’re safe now.  We’re not going to hurt you.”

 

“Nu-ți face griji, micuțule. Te voi proteja.”  Bucky looked down at her as the truck squealed to a stop at the quinjet. “You’re mine now. You and your brother.”

 

“Jarvis, better alert Phil, Steve and Tony we’re on the way and bringing visitors,” Clint said as he strapped in the pilot’s seat, handing off the baby to Natasha.  “Something tells me they might be staying awhile.”

  


**EPILOGUE #3 --  30 MONTHS LATER**

 

“Tell me why I agreed to do this again?” Clint complained as he took Phil’s hand and let him pull him out of the chair.  

 

“I believe you mentioned Peggy needed a baby brother.” Phil stepped around behind him and dug his thumbs into the small of Clint’s back, massaging the knots that had taken up permanent residences there. “Something about wanting to enjoy the conception phase this time around.”

 

“I’m ready to have this linebacker out of me, Phil.  Right now. Today. Call Dr. Vick and tell him to prep the room.,” Clint said. “I mean it this time.”

 

“One more week,” Phil promised.  “If you make it to thirty-two weeks, he’ll induce.”

 

“Nope.” He shook his head. “I’m telling you, this kid is some kind of super soldier; I won’t have a bladder left the way he’s punching on it.”  

 

“Bucky’s bringing Katya and Vincent by later to play with Peggy, so we can’t do it today.”  

 

Clint sighed.  “God, I”m just so done with being pregnant. We should have planned better; it’s so much worse in the summer. I stick to every chair.”

 

“Should have known we’d hit the mark on the first try, Hawkeye.” Phil kissed his neck.  “You’re just too damn good.”

 

“Ummm.” Clint leaned back, resting in Phil’s arms.  “You could distract me with one of your fabulous blow jobs. Always feel better after I make you come once or twice.”

 

“Now that I could be talked into.  We’ve got an hour or so; maybe time for a nap before Peggy’s back from daycare.”

 

“A bit of the hair of the dog that bit ya is just what the doctor ordered.”

 

Phil swatted him on the arm before they kissed.

  
  


 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I am the proud mom of two babies. While I had both by vaginal delivery, not c-section, I've tried to keep the small details included as realistic as possible. Well, except for Clint fighting while 9 months pregnant, but he's an Avenger so, hey, I take literary license there. :)
> 
> The book Clint keeps talking about is What to Expect When You're Expecting and its sequel, What to Expect the First Year. Someone should burn all copies of them.


End file.
